


Rules of Engagement

by caidanu (Zanya)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Explicit Language, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Penthouse Letter, Play Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanya/pseuds/caidanu
Summary: Sasuke needs to get a few things off his chest, and what better way to do it than to write a letter to Penthouse?





	Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> repost of an older work, probably originally written back in 2010? did some minor edits on this one but like the story pretty much as it. fun to revisit this one considering this was probably one of the last times I wrote this pairing ^^

Dear Penthouse,

It feels awkward for me to be writing this to you since I’m not the type of person who’s into sharing their feelings, but my brother’s boyfriend suggested it would be a great way to get some things off my chest. So here I am, typing this letter out to you. I’m just going to state right off that this letter is really about my best friend and our recent descent into something more. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I have a hot, sexy smut story for you but first let me explain a few things since I’m doing this to get this incident off my chest. 

You see, my best friend is a loud, sometimes obnoxious blond who thinks his goal in life should be to spread sunshine and rainbows around the world. Okay, I am exaggerating a little but he’s so upbeat and positive all the time that it leaves me torn between the urge to either vomit or fuck him. 

This has been going on for years, and damn if the lines don’t get blurred sometimes. 

Things have always been a bit complicated for us. We’re not what most people would immediately draw to mind when thinking of the term _best friends_. Rivals might be more appropriate but even that doesn’t describe what we have. What we have is different, special.... and especially fucked up at times. 

When we were younger, we were more like best friends mixed with rivalry and maybe a bit of dislike… with the possibility of crushing thrown in—like the little boy who insults and kicks his crush, only there were two of us kicking and insulting. We competed with each other no matter what we did and fortunately, for the sake of my sanity and pride, I won most of our little competitions, at least the ones we had as kids—once we hit high school we were on equal footing by then. 

Out competitions were never anything big, and the only things that either of us had to lose were our inflated egos. Of course the older we got the higher the stakes were. Both of us always trying to out-do the other, making our matches a testosterone-induced fucketry like no other. 

I honestly thought our competitiveness reached its peak in high school when we both decided it would be a great idea to compete in a wrestling match. Now, I just want to point out that neither of us are wrestlers but we have friends who are so we both knew the basic gist and rules to the sport. So… you know… we were both young and stupid, wanting to try something new. 

Our first and only wrestling match ended with us both sweaty and hard. Unspoken embarrassment kept the two of us silent about the incident, and it stopped any competitions between us involving physical contact. 

Just to be clear on this, I do not consider myself gay. My older brother is gay, always chasing after anything pretty that had a cock before he met his current, long-term boyfriend. After that _incident_ , I was fairly certain of my gayness for _the blond idiot_. Soon after, we both graduated and gone off to different colleges so our long-lived rivalry had come to a halt until I moved back. 

But, well, as they say, on with the story, or the part of the story you actually give a fuck about. 

The real story starts last week when I was getting ready to leave for a dinner with my parents. This dinner was very important not only because it had been a year since I’ve visited my parents, but also because my father wanted me to start working for him. I had just graduated college and put a mortgage down on my own home. I had only been back in town for two weeks and I had put off seeing everyone for long enough. 

I was dressed up in a new suit—heading out my front door—when I saw my best friend, standing on my porch… looking like he needed something to do. In retrospect, I should have just ignored him and walked straight to my car, but instead, I stopped, looked at him, and waited to hear what he wanted—probably looking for ways to torment me.

It gets fucked up from here on out. I mean, do you know what he said to me? We hadn’t seen each other in a year, and he hadn’t visited since I had moved back to town. 

His first words, after looking me over, were, “Dude, what happened? It looks like a duck just shat all over your head.”

That’s what he said, I kid-you-not. In my defense, my hair dryer had broken that morning, and I didn’t have much to work with. I had to break out my hair gel and hope for the best, which ended in disaster. 

“Fuck you, dumbass.” I wasted no time returning the jab. 

Funny how it had been a year since we’ve seen each other and it only took two seconds for us to fall back into our old habits. I noticed that he was blocking the way to my car so I tried to push past him. 

I don’t know if there was something weird in the air that day, but, oddly enough, instead of getting riled up he just laughed and blocked my move, pissing me off even more. It was as if he didn’t care I had just tried to make his head explode with my thoughts. I don’t even remember pushing him first, but I’m sure I did. My hands went flying, my body moving on its own before I even had time to think about the consequences, I shoved him back, hard. No “hello, hey it’s been awhile, nice to see you, missed you bastard”—just a jab about a duck shitting on my head. 

Of course, he immediately pushed me back, causing me to stumble a few inches back and hit my ankle off the decorative rocks I had installed a few days back. I think I still have a bruise on my left ankle where it connected with the sharp edges of the rocks.

It didn’t take us long to jump each other, somehow ending up in my front yard, rolling around in the grass and mud—fists and flying, feet kicking, getting back up on our feet to do it all over again. You get the idea, I’m sure. 

The weird part about it all was when time seemed to slow down, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were both moving in slow motion. I hadn’t even realized that the idiot was turning me on. I didn’t realize until the inevitable happened—our cocks brushed against each other. 

At first, I was mortified. Then, I looked down and noticed he was having the same problem. Time slowing down was no longer an issue as it suddenly stopped. We both looked up at the same time, our eyes locking. His blue eyes undoubtedly matching the confusion in my own. 

We should have seen it coming. Years of repressed tension since that incident in high school had to come out sometime. Apparently, the day I had an important dinner with my parents was the day. 

It didn’t take long for things to heat up—my suit coat being the first and only thing to go. I vaguely remember him tearing the damn thing off my body, tossing it aside into the muddy grass. 

“That was a two-thousand dollar suit dumbass,” I growled at him, watching as mud began to cover the dark-blue sleeves.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he barked back, mocking my concern. “Fuck your suit.”

I lunged at him. 

I guess I had every intention on proving to him that my suit would not be the thing getting fucked. As I moved in for the kill, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. Instead of moving forward, I skidded backwards, slipping on the muddy ground, landing flat on my ass. It didn’t take him long to attempt to gain the upper hand by tackling me to the ground. Then, something unexpected happened. He started rubbing our crotches together, frantically. 

It felt good—fucking sublime—but I didn’t want him to get any ideas. He _was not_ going to fuck me. Fortunately it didn’t take me long to get the heavy fucker off of me and sit up. 

We looked at each other, trying to gauge what we could get away with. I knew he would never give into me, at least not today. Our clothes were sticking to our bodies, and my tie was askew—thrown carelessly over my shoulder. The rubbing had been nice but I needed more contact, at least contact where it counted. The fabric of my boxers rubbing against my dick kept the pleasure from reaching its peak. 

He seemed to be thinking the same thing as he unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out. I was mesmerized, watching as he hastily spit on his hand before pulling my dick flush against his. 

He looked me in the eyes once more, testing his luck. “So, are you going to let me?” 

I knew what he meant. There was no way I’d give in to him. “No way in hell. And you?”

“Not a fucking chance, bastard.” 

We didn’t have to come right out and say it. In that moment, we understood each other perfectly. Those were our terms, our rules of engagement, daring the other to make a wrong move and fuck up so there would be an opening, an opportunity to move in for the kill. The battle of wills was on. 

Neither of us moved fast enough so I grabbed our erections, my hand covering the side his wasn’t—our fingers touching, our worlds merging together. I could feel the energy around us as if sparks would fly at any second and burn us alive. Even our frotting had become a competition. Both of us trying to out-do the other, to see who could make who come first, whose grip was the firmest, whose was the fastest. We both worked our cocks as fast as the other, our pride at stake, neither of us willing to back down. 

“Oh fuck, hurry up.” I’m embarrassed to admit that I sounded a little desperate. 

“Dammit, you’re pushy. I’m going as fast as I can.” He wasn’t much better with all his moaning and panting. He sounded like a bitch in heat, like a two-dollar whore panting for more, and damn if wasn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard or seen. I will never admit to him that I probably sounded and looked the same. 

It felt perfect, so fucking perfect, our hard flesh sliding against each other. It felt like forever but I don’t think either of us lasted long. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me as he came. His eyes were hooded, filled with lust and want—his lips parted as he tried to breathe oxygen into his lungs. I could fell my body doing the same. We came at the same time, watching as our cum spilled out onto our hands. In that moment, we were the same. We were one. I hadn’t realized until then that half my soul had been missing.

My only regret was that my dick wasn’t in his ass.

It really sucks being on equal ground with the idiot. If I had been better, I would have a valid reason to convince him in letting me fuck him in the ass. I’m sure he was thinking the same exact thing. 

We both leaned back, watching the other, waiting for one of us to break the steady sound of our breathing. As usual, he was the one to speak first. 

“You’re suit looks like shit.” 

Yeah, he’s a real charmer. Just then, he looked up at me as he wiped his hand on my dirty, torn shirt, a smug smile on his lips—his actions are even worse than his filthy mouth. 

Why do I want to fuck him again? Oh, right... because he owns half of my soul, stupid fucker. I won’t bore you with my reply, can’t really remember what I said to him anyway. I’m sure it was something mean and vicious but in my defense he used my shirt to wipe the cum off his hand. 

I will say it didn’t end there. After more bickering and groping, we eventually made it to my bedroom. 

Obviously, I never made it to dinner. I had hastily called my parents, after two hours of fooling around, and rescheduled. There was no way I could clean myself up in time and there were more important matters at hand… like trying to convince him of the benefits to having my dick in his ass. 

Sadly, I’m still working on that one. Maybe next time, once I’ve gotten a grip of the reality of this. 

Well, the idiot is waking up so I have to go and take some ibuprofen before a migraine starts. Believe me, with him it won’t take long for that to happen, and, hopefully, our frot sessions will finally come to an end. I’m sure I’ll be able to convince him. The idiot won’t know what hit him. 

Yours truly,

Currently fucked in the head and plotting.

**Author's Note:**

> this has a companion fic to it called _Behind Enemy Lines_ that I will posting after going through it once and seeing what's going on.


End file.
